


Feathers and Fury

by ComicBooksBro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Black Markets, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Not Beta Read, Savior Dean Winchester, Trauma, Whump, Wing Grooming, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), wing whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29821683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicBooksBro/pseuds/ComicBooksBro
Summary: Cas has been missing for quite a while when he resurfaces on the magic black market. By the time someone purchases him, he's all but broken, mentally and physically.And it's up to Dean to fix him.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 23
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Saddle up fuckers, because this is gonna be a ride.
> 
> This is kind of a gift for an anon who commented on another fic of mine ([Cas?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28383534/chapters/69545193)) and asked if I would consider writing a version with Cas. As it turns out, 'Cas?' (and the whole [I'd like to start by apologizing to Dean](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141340) series) went through about half a dozen mostly fleshed out drafts, and one of those happened to feature Cas as the main character. Luckily, I still had the first chapter, so it's getting posted here. Updates are going to be slow because this is the only chapter I have written so far, and these chapters are probably going to be longer than what I usually write.
> 
> Anyway, DuffMan the anon commenter, this is for you! 
> 
> <3

Castiel woke to the feeling of water on his face. He blinked his gritty eyes open, his head feeling strangely fuzzy. Another drop of water hit him in the forehead, and he winced. Sitting up as best he could, Castiel looked around.

He was in a cage, an old, slightly rusted one, the kind used to hold bears. It wasn’t large enough for him to lay flat in, and barely tall enough to stand. The floor was made of stained, mildewed concrete, damp and rough against Castiel’s sensitive skin.

 _Skin?_ Castiel looked down to find himself dressed in only his suit pants—even his shoes and socks were gone. /That’s strange./ Even stranger, thin, metal bracelets were affixed to his wrists and ankles.

Everything felt off, his teeth were fuzzy and he wanted to throw up, but that was _wrong—_ he was an angel, he wasn’t supposed to feel like that. He concentrated, unable to remember the last thing that happened to him.

He was—

He had been with Dean? At a bar?

No. That wasn’t right.

_Where am I?_

A sound like chains rattling came from his left, and Castiel turned his head, concentrating on things beyond his small enclosure. In a cage similar to his own, sprawled a vampire. She smiled at him with pointed teeth and waved, revealing a similar bracelet clasped around her thin wrist.

“Hey,” she whispered. Her voice was deeper than Castiel would have expected. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask _me?_ The vampire rolled her eyes. “Yes, you. You new, or just from another room?”

“New,” Castiel rumbled, his voice rough with sleep. _Why had he been asleep?_

The vampire hummed, resting her head back against the wall of the cage. Thin, pointed bits of metal sticking out from the crude inclosure tangled in her dark hair, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Welcome to the club, then. I’m Elsie—vampire, as I’m sure you’ve figured.” She tilted her head, scrutinizing Castiel with a curious eye. “What’re you?”

“Angel,” Castiel answered shortly, trying to reach out witch his grace and figure out where he was. It didn’t move. He tried again, but nothing happened. He could feel it, curled in his chest, poised to strike, but it would not move.

“A— _holy shit_ —you’re Castiel, aren’t you?” She ran her tongue over her teeth, eyes bright with interest. Castiel doesn’t reply. “You _are!"_ She laughed, a short sharp bark. “What’d you do to get yourself all the way over here?”

Castiel stayed silent, and looked at the floor. His feet were cold. He strained his mind, trying desperately to remember what had happened, but his memory remained absent.

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh,” Elsie hummed again, chewing on a nail. It splintered under her sharp teeth, and she cursed. “Sorry, I’ll never get used to these,” she pointed to her fangs, which seemed incapable of retracting, and fell silent for a moment. “I don’t remember, either. No one I’ve talked to has. I figured you might, angel powers and all.”

Castiel shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Elsie arched her back in a stretch that her enclosure was barely large enough to hold. “It’s okay. ’S just nice to have someone new to talk to. I mean, there’s Onyx—“ she gestured to another figure, caged in the shadowy corner “—and Terry—“ she looked to an empty cage. “Well, there _was_ Terry.” She shrugged.

Castiel felt something sink in his stomach, and decided not to ask. “Where are we?”

Elsie rubbed her arms and looked at the floor. “I don’t know. Underground somewhere, probably up north. It gets _really_ cold at night.” She scowled at her ratty cargo pants and crossed her arms. Then again,” she sighed, “I’m from Georgia, so who knows.”

“I was in Kansas, I think,” Castiel replied, still looking around his damp prison. The room was small, with barely enough room to walk between the cages that had been shoved in there. “How long—“

“Have I been here?” Elsie finished. “I’m not sure, no windows, so I can’t tell the time, but I’m gonna assume a few months. We get fed every now and then, but my sense of time was already shot to shit anyway, so…” She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor. “All you gotta do is keep your head down and go along with it. Don’t fight back, it’s easier that way.”

“Fight back against what?” Castiel asked, examining the bands on his wrists. They were thin and made of shining silver, with dark red runes that he could barely make out in the dim, flickering light. It didn’t matter, though, because he had never seen them before, which was unnerving.

“I—“ Elsie cut herself off and dropped, boneless, to the floor, in a convincing mockery of sleep. Loud stomping came from above, and Castiel flinched. The door to their room opened with a shriek of metal and spilled light into the musty darkness. Castiel blinked a few times, letting his eyes acclimate.

An imposing figure was silhouetted in the doorway, undefinable objects clutched in his hands. As he came closer, Castiel could make out his face; a dark look was plastered onto his face: pain-hungry and psychotic. Castiel couldn’t recognize him. The man whistled cheerily as he walked to Castiel’s cage, swinging his arms.

“Well,” he said in the voice of a man that had smoked too many cigarettes. “Ain’t you beautiful?”

Castiel shivered and hugged his arms to his chest, suddenly feeling far too vulnerable.

The man set down a small plastic trey in front of Castiel’s cage, kicked it under a small gap with his foot, and leaned against the bars. They made a loud clanking sound. “Eat up.”

Castiel looked at the trey. It held a small chunk of bread, some strange looking vegetables, and a bowl of water. He chose to ignore it.

“Who are you?”

There was a moment of silence. “Curious, are you?” Another rough laugh. “Name’s Erik.”

“Why am I here?”

Erik kicked at the base of the cage. “You’ll learn soon enough; eat.” And with that, he turned and left the room, plunging it into semi-darkness again.

***

Several days passed in a similar manner. Castiel could feel his muscles starting to cramp from lack of movement. He wondered where Dean was—if he had realized he was missing yet—if he was looking—if he even cared. His grace remained stubbornly unusable, as if it was lost somewhere in his vessel. Sleep and food were necessities now, which was mildly annoying, but, more than that, terrifying. There was no way to know what spell had been used to make him human, no way of reading the blood-colored runes inscribed on the silver bands that encircled his wrists.

There was no knowing anything here.

Elsie kept him informed on everything she had learned over her captivity, which wasn’t much. Onyx—who Castiel learned was a Selkie—slept most of the time, and seemed to have given up on life.

Erik—still as mysterious as the first day—showed up at irregular intervals to feed them. It was always the same: bread, shriveled vegetables, and water. He never said much, never answered Castiel’s questions, never did much other than bring them food (which Castiel reluctantly consumed), and stare.

It was unnerving.

Elsie hadn’t been lying when she said it was cold at night. Castiel could see his breath in the flickering light, when he wasn’t passed out from sheer exhaustion. He missed Dean.

***

One day Erik came and took Elsie.

She didn’t come back.

***

Castiel flinched awake to the sound of metal crashing against metal. “Up,” Erik commanded. Struggling to his feet, Castiel held tight to the bars of the cage, willing his legs to take his weight. He was so weak—practically shaking as he stood. There was a loud _clang_ as—for the first time in almost a month—the door to Castiel’s cage opened.

Erik jerked his head, and Castiel stumbled out, knees weak. He started to fall, but Erik caught him by the back of his neck, and Castiel slumped, boneless, into his harsh hold. He was breathing hard, and the weak muscles in his legs burned with a vengeance.

Erik pulled him down a long, bright hall, turning left, right, left, right, again and again and again, until Castiel lost tract of where they were going. Eventually, they emerged into a dungeon, not unlike the one in the bunker.

“Now, on your knees.”

Castiel blanched and turned to face Erik, as steadily as he could. “How dare—“ The words caught in his throat as Erik kicked him square in the back, sending him to his knees. Castiel let out a wordless cry, and tears sprang to his eyes as Erik started chanting something under his breath. The bands on Castiel’s arms started to heat up and he whined as they became white-hot and locked him place.

He struggled, but the bracelets were firmly attached to the floor.

“Good,” Erik crooned, rubbing a thumb over Castiel’s jawline. Out of the corner of his eyes, Castiel could see a knife, small and sharp, in Erik’s other hand.

He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, felt the knife ghost over his cheek, and failed not to shudder. Erik slipped a hand through Castiel’s hair and held it tightly. Castiel tried to pull away, but was too weak, and eventually just let Erik hold his head up.

He barely reacted to the first cut. The knife was sharp enough he could hardly feel it for the first few seconds, but when the pain came a moment later it was burning and seemed to be everywhere at once. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and tried not to cry out. It seemed an eternity as he waited for the pain to end.

_Where are you, Dean?_

***

He flitted in and out of awareness over the next few hours. Sometimes Erik was in front of him, sometimes behind, or on a side, but the knife never _ever_ left his grasp. Out of the side of his fuzzy vision Castiel could see several sigils carved into his arms, though he didn’t know what they meant.

Erik hummed while he worked, a happy smile on his face.

Castiel wanted to die.

***

At some point, Erik stopped.

Castiel didn’t know when, or why—maybe he had gotten tired of it, maybe he had run out of skin—but he was grateful. Then he looked up. Erik was above him, surrounded by bottles of strange substances, both liquid and powder. Castiel shivered as he felt some of them sprinkle across his shredded back.

Murmured words slipped past his ears, though he couldn’t tell what they meant, or even what language they were in. He felt woozy, though whether it was from lack of food, or blood loss, Castiel wasn’t sure. Neither of those things should have affected him, yet, here…

He was almost human.

Sam and Dean had to have noticed his absence by now, and if not them, Jack; so why hadn’t they come? Castiel had been gone long enough they should have found him by now. They could have used tracking spells, their connections as hunters, Jack’s powers— _anything_ —but they hadn’t come.

Had something happened to them?

Maybe they just didn’t care.

Erik’s chanting had ceased. Castiel struggled to stay silent, wondering what Erik would do. Surely it couldn’t be worse than what he had already done? He looked down at the blood pooling beneath him, begging it to give him _some_ clue as to what was happening.

Castiel flinched as he felt something move beneath his skin.

_What was that?_

It moved again, and this time Castiel felt skin spilt. He gasped in surprise as he felt the _thing_ shift under his skin shift. A trickle of blood ran down his back, and pain-laden tears sprang to his eyes. If he concentrated, he could feel the barest threads of his grace, but still couldn’t access them. His entire body shuddered as the things that he was now almost certain were wings moved again.

Bringing an angel’s wings into the physical plane without permission or reason was one of the most violating things that could be done. Castiel’s heart raced as he struggled, trying to reach his grace so that he could undo what Erik had done, but it was too late and he could barely _move,_ let alone access his grace.

He sobbed as his wings were ripped into corporality. He could feel skin tearing, muscles straining, and blood running across his back in rivulets. Another broken cry escaped his throat and his arms gave out, leaving him flush with the floor.

“Shh-shh-shh,” Erik hushed, pressing a hand over Castiel’s nose and mouth. Tears ran down Castiel’s cheeks, burning the sigils carved into him and he sobbed again, his mouth opening in a soundless scream. His chest burned, and he barely struggled as Erik slipped a gag over his mouth and tied it tight. Castiel screamed, biting hard into the dirty rag shoved in his mouth.

He could feel his wings shivering, twitching, wet, sticky and cold with drying blood and tissue. A burning, heavy hand landed on one of his wings and he flinched away, but the unfamiliar weight of his wings toppled him over and he shouted through his gag, soaking it with spit.

“Relax,” Erik whispered in Castiel’s ear. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Castiel could feel himself slipping from consciousness. His vision went fuzzy, and he spiraled down, down, down, into darkness.

***

He was on a bed the next time he woke. It wasn’t soft by any means, but still seemed 1,000 times better than what he had been subjected to recently. His throat was dry and everything hurt. The sigils Erik had carved into his skin seemed to be gone, though. He was on his stomach, head resting on a thin pillow, wings tied to his back. He whimpered, the coarseness of rope burning against the sensitive skin of his wings.

“You’re awake,” Erik purred in a way that made Castiel’s skin crawl. He forced down a sob that threaten to claw its way out of his throat, and bit his tongue. Coppery blood hit the back of his throat, and he spat onto the cot. “Now, now,” Erik tut-tutted, waving a disapproving finger. “We don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Castiel snarled at Erik, flashing red-stained teeth. “Why are you doing this?”

“Gotta pay the bills somehow, sweetheart,” he laughed, resting a thumb on Castiel’s bloody lower lip. _Bills?_ Castiel thought with a jolt. _How…_ “Besides, I like the sounds you make.”

“Don’t touch me,” Castiel whimpered, clenching his shaking hands into fists. Jagged nails cut into his palms. If he thought he was weak before, he couldn’t have been more wrong. He could barely move now, his back felt like it had been shredded and everything else ached. His wings would have surely pulled him back if he was standing, and bound as they were, he couldn’t use them. Angel wings were not meant to be on the physical plane, then again, Castiel wasn’t really an angel any more, was he?

There was no struggle the next time Erik tried to move him.

***

Castiel blinked his sticky eyes open, hardly aware of his surrounding with how much his body ached. His wings—still bound tightly to his body—tried to stretch, but were stopped by the rope holding them. Erik could tie a good knot.

“Look who’s awake!” Castiel flinched at the sudden noise, his head pounded as he craned his neck around to try and find Erik. He could feel his heart pounding, his body buzzing with adrenaline. His wings flared again, and he could feel the weak muscles straining against the ropes that should have been so easy to break.

“How’s my pretty little angel?” Erik asked, gently (far, _far_ too gently for the type of man he was) petting Castiel’s head.

“I’m not… yours,” Castiel groaned through the pain spiking through his whole body. “I’ll _never_ be—“ Erik struck a match and dropped it into a bowl next to him, and Castiel could feel his voice disappear. He tried to scream, but couldn’t even manage a whimper.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he muttered. Castiel could see him rummaging around in the shadows, and hear the soft clinking of ceramic. Unbidden tears ran down Castiel’s cheeks and he would have screamed if he was able to make noise.

He didn’t move when Erik locked him into mittened handcuffs, or collared him. He didn’t react when he was dragged out of the room by his sore wrists and thrown into another, smaller room. He barely blinked when he was tossed in on top of his wings and the door was shut and locked behind him.

Laying on the damp floor of a dark room, Castiel shuddered, all but broken.

***

The door opened, and Castiel squinted in the bright light, but made no attempt to escape—or even stand—as Erik entered the room.

“Now…” Erik began, carefully slipping a pair of headphones over Castiel’s ears. “There’s a set of rules I’m going to need you to follow, okay?”

Castiel struggled weakly, trying to crawl away from Erik, but he just pinned down the struggling angel and pressed the ‘play’ button. Sound flooded Castiel’s ears and he clawed at the headphones with mittened hands. He vaguely registered Erik leaving and the door slamming behind him, but the noise blaring from the headphones drowned out nearly everything else.

**_Only speak when spoken to._ **

**_You have no value, your only purpose is to satisfy your master, no matter the cost._ **

**_You are an animal, a pet, and you are to be treated as such._ **

**_You are not an inconvenience, do not present yourself as one._ **

**_You do not have a name, and are not to be referred to by one._ **

**_Only speak when spoken to._ **

**_You have no value, your only purpose is to satisfy your master, no matter the cost._ **

Castiel heaved a quiet sob into his arms, and prayed for Dean.

***

His mind felt fuzzy. It should have been easy to tune out the rules the played 24/7, but voiceless and weak as he was, there was little Castiel could do in the way of distractions.

He silently begged for help, though from who, he wasn’t sure.

***

One day (night? It was hard to tell) Castiel woke up with his voice back. It didn’t matter, though, he had nothing to say, and besides, he wasn’t permitted to.

***

“What’s your name?” Erik asked as he removed the mittened handcuffs.

“I… don’t have one. I am… undeserving of one.” The angel looked up at Erik with bleary eyes, confused.

“Good boy,” Erik purred, running his fingers through the angel’s tangled hair.

***

The angel woke to silence one day. That was strange, he was used to the rules— _his_ rules—cycling endlessly though the headphones. He could still hear them in his mind, though. Another strange thing was the fact that his wings were untied. He stretched them hesitantly in the dark, and felt his weak muscles burn.

Tucking his wings close to his body, the angel went back to sleep.

***

The angel stood stock still as Erik clipped a leash to his collar. They were going somewhere, though he wasn’t sure why. He let himself be tugged to Erik’s car—a plain-looking van—and shoved inside.

He curled up in the corner, away from the bottles and ancient artifacts with magical qualities. The car coughed loudly and backfired.

It was a long ride.

***

“Sit!” Erik growled, waving at the spot of bare floor next to him. The angel did as he was asked, hunching his ragged wings over his shoulders.

Erik was talking to someone now—a woman with long blond hair and a mean face—something about spell books and trading and—the angel’s stomach dropped. _Was Erik going to get rid of him?_ The more he looked around, the more the dark place they were in looked like an in-person, magical, version of the black market.

The woman Erik was talking to walked off in a huff, and the angel could see his face was tense with anger. He shook with the thought of what would happen to him later. Maybe leaving Erik wouldn’t be so bad.

It didn’t matter what he thought, though. Things like him weren’t allowed to have opinions, and it was starting to look like his chance to leave had just walked away. The angel stared at the floor and mourned his thoughts of freedom.

“How much for the angel?” A rough voice asked. It was deep, but not smokey, it sounded _nice,_ friendly—familiar. That was stupid, though. The angel didn’t know anyone but Erik.

The angel looked up to find the source of the voice.

A man with short, chestnut-colored hair and green eyes stood in front of him, his expression bored in the half-light. Erik regarded the stranger with a suspicious eye, and crossed his arms.

“Who’s askin’? I can’t give this thing away to just anyone, you know?”

The man huffed and raised his eyebrows. “Names aren’t important. All you need to know is I’ve got the money, and I’m willing to give you whatever else you want.”

Erik smiled at the man, then leaned over and stroked a dirty hand over one of the angel’s wings. The wings tensed, but didn’t fold in on themselves. “I like your style.” He paused to consider the man’s offer. “And what do you think I want?”

The man looked the angel over, and he curled his wings in, suddenly nervous. The man’s eyes were searching for something, that much was evident, but it was unclear what.

The man reached into the duffle bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a book, similar to the kind Erik had refused to sell the angry woman earlier. Erik looked it over, raised his eyebrows, and smiled.

“Throw in that knife—“ he nodded at a knife the man had slipped through one of his belt loops “—and you’re good.”

“Deal.”

Erik chuckled, “You’re an easy sell.”

“What can I say?” The man smiled, a plastic-like grin, perfected from many years of practice. “I know a deal when I see one.” He passed the book and knife over to Erik, who inspected it, deemed it satisfactory, and passed the man a leash in return. “What’s this for?”

Now it was Erik’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “You don’t want him getting away, do you?”

The man cleared his throat, eyes darting from the leash to his hands and back again. “Of course.” He took the leash, and though it was well disguised, the angel could see the disgust and worry on his face. Erik grabbed the base of the angel’s wings and jerked him into a standing position. He whimpered, off balance, and nearly ended up on his side as he was pushed towards the man, who shot a glare Erik’s way.

The angel let himself be lead to the man’s car and pushed into the passenger’s seat. The man came around the other side and swung into the driver’s seat, then turned the car on. It flared to life with a low rumble, and soon they were on the open road. The man relaxed the instant they were out of the parking lot, though he didn’t smile. His eyes filled with relived tears as he chanced a look at the passengers seat out go the corner of his eyes.

“Hey, Cas,” he said in a voice heavy with emotion. “I—“ he broke off, unable to say anymore before his throat closed up.

They swerved off the road a few minutes later, into a decrepit parking lot. The man launched himself across the bench seat the second they were stopped and pulled the angel into a hug. He could feel tears dripping onto his shoulder as the man cried, and let himself be held, but didn’t react. His wings shivered.

“It’s good—“ the man broke off and sniffed, wiping an arm across his tear-stained face. “It’s good to see you again.” He pulled back, a relived smile on his face.

“Ag-again?” The angel asked, stumbling over the word as his underused vocal cords protested. He knew it was bad to question the opinion of one higher up than him, but he couldn’t stop the simple word slipping from his mouth.

“Yeah. We’re safe now, Cas, you can drop the act.” The man continued, looking worried now.

“Cas?”

“That’s your name. Don’t you know your name?” His voice was rising now, but not in anger.

“I don’t…” Cas tested the name in his mind for a moment, then accepted it. He wasn’t allowed to refuse anything someone gave him—least of all a name. Besides, it sounded nice, familiar and well-worn on the man’s tongue. _A good name,_ he decided. “Cas,” he repeated to himself quietly, watching the man’s facial expressions. He looked… sad. Was he displeased with Cas’ reaction to his name? “I like it,” Cas said as enthusiastically as he could. “Th-thank you master.”

“Dean,” the man ground out in reply, a hopeless look in his eyes. “My name is Dean Winchester.” He shifted back to the driver’s seat and restarted the car. “Please don’t call me master.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

They drove in silence.

***

Cas wasn’t quite sure how long they had been on the road. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because now they were parked in the parking lot of some crummy motel and it was pitch black outside. Dean looked at him in the dim light, concerned.

“Hey, buddy,” he said quietly as Cas opened his eyes. “We’re stopping for a few hours so I can get some sleep. You need to stay here for a minute so I can get the key, okay?”

Cas nodded, and Dean, apparently satisfied, got out of the car, and headed for the main building. Cas shifted awkwardly and ruffled his wings a bit. The leash Erik had given Dean was thrown haphazardly into the back of the car. Cas looked at the thick material, stamped with sigils, just like everything else that granted someone possession over Cas.

What they meant, he had no idea.

Dean returned a moment later, toting a key. He opened the passenger’s door and motioned for Cas to step out, which he did, looking awkwardly at the back seat.

“Something wrong?” Dean asked.

Cas pointed to the leash with his thumb.

The color drained from Dean’s face. “No! You’re not a friggin’ dog—just follow me.” He sighed and ran a hand through his slightly greasy hair. Cas followed, as he was asked, a few feet behind Dean. He kept his wings tucked close to him, because battered as they were, they offered him at least some protection.

The motel room was dark, and stained in strange places, nearly indistinguishable from countless others Cas had been in, though he couldn’t remember when or why. Maybe he was imagining it. There were two queen beds, the closest of which to the door Dean had already claimed. Cas walked to the foot of the bed and kneeled, his face turned upwards so that Dean could see he was paying attention.

“You can sit on the bed, Cas,” Dean said in a tired voice. There was an unspoken _please_ attached to the sentence.

Cas stood and sat criss-cross on the bed before Dean could hit him for being bad.

“What happened to you?” Dean whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Cas tilted his head. “I don’t under-understand. I’ve always been like this. Do you want me to be so-something different?” His throat ached; he hadn’t talked that much in a long time.

“You weren’t…” Dean trailed off, a couple tears sliding down his face. “You weren’t always like this.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t remember anything? About me? Sam? The apocalypse? Chuck?”

Cas shook his head, the space between his eyebrows creasing. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean assured him, face crumpling.

“It’s not okay,” he corrected a moment later. “I don’t know what to do.” He sniffled, trying to stifle the emotion in his voice. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you.” His breath hitched, and it was easy to tell he was trying to hold back further tears. “We’ll get to the bunker tomorrow—you’ll like it there, I think—and maybe Sam will have an idea about what to do.” He sighed. “You’ll like Sam, too, he’s my brother.”

Cas stretched his wings as Dean talked. Being stuck in a car so long made his muscles cramp, and sleeping in an awkward position hadn’t helped. Dean hadn’t given him permission, but didn’t seem like the kind of person who would mind. After a moment, Dean went silent, and Cas could see awe on his face. It was strange, seeing it coupled with such profound sadness.

“Do they hurt?” Dean asked.

_Yes._

“No.” It was best for Dean not to worry, or assume he was defective. Cas was hyperaware of the ache in his muscles, the dragging weight _(too heavy too heavy—it hurts)_ that threatened to send him onto his back, and the shameful gaps where there should have been feathers. His wings brushed the ceiling now, only half extended, and he could hear Dean’s sharp intake of breath as they flapped, scattering loose, broken feathers to the ground.

“You didn’t have them before,” Dean said, almost absentmindedly as his eyes traced Cas’ wings. “I mean—you did—they just weren’t… _here."_ His eyes glittered with sadness, but he tried to hide it.

Cas rolled his pinched shoulders and disguised it as a shrug. He had already failed Dean. Eric had told him that his job—his _purpose_ —was making sure whoever owned his was happy— _satisfied._ Cas recoiled inwardly at that word, flinching at the phantom feeling of burning, bruising hands all over his body: chest, legs, mouth and all of a sudden it was too much and he couldn’t _breathe_ because there were hands on his throat and blood pooling around him and—

Cas hurled himself off the bed when he felt Dean touch his shoulder.

“Shit—Cas!” Dean shouted, backing away. Cas didn’t hear him, he was still lost in a haze of blood and half-remembered screams. Wings shuddering, he fell to the floor, off-balance.

He stepped on a feather as he tried to stand, pulling it out. White-hot pain shot through his nerves and he howled, flaring his wings and stepping back until he smacked into the wall.

“Sorry,” he whimpered, sliding back to the floor.

Cautiously, Dean rounded the bed and slowly approached Cas, keeping his hands raised in front of him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He tried to meet Cas’ eyes, but the angel just ducked away, tears streaming down his face. “What happened? What’d I do?”

Cas just shivered and wrapped his quivering wings around himself, head still bowed submissively. “Wasn’t you.” It sounded like it pained him to talk, and Dean could feel something fragile crumble in his chest. “Was me. M-my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean’s eyes filled with horror. “You didn’t do anything.”

Cas tilted his head, confusion evident on his face. He was a far cry from the angel Dean had known a few months ago. _What had happened to him?_ Dean’s mind flashed back to the man he had taken Castiel from. He prayed that the tracking spell Sam had put on their ‘payment’ worked, because the guy who had taken Castiel from him was going to die slowly.

Cas pushed himself farther back into the corner and tucked his wings around him.

Dean leaned against the rickety bed frame and sighed heavily before taking out his phone.

“Hey, Sam? We’ve got a problem.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas comes home and gets some of the comfort that he so desperately needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, let's hear it for chapter two! Thanks to everyone who commented on the first one, y'all rock.

Cas’ wings hurt.

It was the first thing he registers when he wakes up, and it continued to be the most prominent thing in his mind as he became more and more aware of his situation. His bones ached so deeply that he could barely stand to keep quiet.

His wings had hurt less the day before. Yes, they had pinched and cramped horribly, but the pain had been _tolerable._ This… this was almost unbearable. Twitching slightly, Cas tried to roll onto his side. His feathery, weighted down, _disgusting_ appendages refused to let him, though, and he gave up after a moment.

Cas' wings were draped over either side of the bed that he had been allowed to sleep on, effectively trapping him. He tried to lift them, letting out a pitiful whine as he did so. The muscles in his wings were far too underdeveloped to do much more than barely keep his wings off or the ground when he was standing. All in all, Cas’ situation was not an ideal one: pinned to the bed, too weak to move, practically _presenting himself_ for…

Dean.

Oh god. Oh father _no._ Dean had been so kind the day before: giving him a bed, letting him speak, and forgoing the leash, but that had all been an act. Of course Dean didn’t want Cas to be safe--he didn't want Cas to be happy. All Dean wanted was a body to hurt and do with as he pleased. Eyes burning, Cas tried to squirm into a more comfortable position, but he could barely move under the weight of his wings.

Cas just didn't want to be hurt. He tried to fold his wings back enough so that he could at least roll over onto his side and better protect himself. Whimpering, he allowed his wings fall limp again. He let out a hiccuping sob and pressed his face into the cigarette-stained pillow. He was so weak. Far too weak to fight back. (Even though he'd never do that. It wasn't in the rules.) Too weak to do much of anything, actually.

He blinked tears out of his eyes, and looked over to the other bed, if only to see what he was up against. Dean was curled up tightly on his bed, holding a lumpy pillow against his chest. He was out cold, and seemed generally uncomfortable. He probably was, if the lumpiness of Cas' bed was anything similar to Dean's.

Above all, Dean Winchester looked very vulnerable. If Cas was a worse angel (a stronger angel), he would try to kill Dean, and strike out on his own. But, again, that was against the rules, and it wasn't like Cas could even get off of his bed to try. So he consoled himself with the fantasy. He was free to imagine.

No one could hurt him in his head.

***

When he woke up again, the shower was running. Dean must have been in there, because the bed next to Cas' was empty. Cas just sighed and stretched out his non-feathered limbs. He didn't bother with his wings; they just hurt too much.

Before long, Dean emerged from the shower, looking worlds more clean and rested than he had they day before. He walked over to Cas, keeping his steps light and cautious, and kneeled next to Cas.

"Hey. You're awake."

Cas nodded slightly.

"Ready to get going?"

Cas closed his eyes and didn't respond. Really, he wasn't ready to go anywhere. This place wasn't _safe_ per se, but it was safer than any place Cas had been before, and he was reluctant to leave.

"C'mon," Dean encouraged. He shook Cas' shoulder gently, and Cas whined.

"Hurts," he whimpered.

Dean's hand disappeared immediately. "Sorry," Dean said quietly. "You need to get up, though," he urged. "We've gotta get back to the bunker as soon as possible."

"Can't." Cas shuddered, and tried to push himself into a sitting position again. He failed, again. "W-wings are too heavy." He pushed at one of his wings and bit back a pained shout when it twinged.

"No, hey, don't do that," Dean said, pulling Cas' shaky hand off of his wing. "Don't hurt yourself. I can help you move."

Cas nodded again. He shouldn't have required help, but it was better that Dean had a intact pet than a broken one, right? Dean would certainly want to break Cas himself.

"Okay," Dean said, standing and looking down at Cas. "I'm gonna try to fold your wings onto your back, and you're going to roll over, 'kay?"

"Yes mast--/Dean."/

"Alright. Tell me if it hurts."

Another nod.

Dean set his jaw, and gently--very, very gently--reached under one of Cas' wings. Cas shivered as Dean's calloused hands brushed the underside of his wings.

"You okay?"

"O-okay."

Dean lifted the wing, trying to keep as little weight on Cas as possible. It still twinged a bit, but it felt far better than it would have otherwise. Carefully, Dean bent the wing, smoothing his hand over the remaining, soft feathers at the joint. It felt surprisingly nice, despite the extensive damage and weakness of Cas' wings. With that same gentleness, Dean pressed Cas' wing against his back.

"Can you hold it there on your own?" Dean asked.

"I--" Cas swallowed roughly. "I don't know."

"That's okay."

Dean kept just enough pressure on Cas' wing to hold it in place, and awkwardly crawled over Cas' bed to the other side so that he could get to Cas' other wing. The second wing was maneuvered onto Cas' back in a slightly more rough manner, due to Dean only having one hand free, but it still didn't hurt as much as it could have.

"Okay," Dean said, slinging his arm around both of Cas' wings, and bracing his other arm against the bed. "Turn onto your side."

Cas rolled over, and Dean hauled him into a sitting position. Cas yelped at the briefly worsened pressure, and turned his face into Dean's neck, shivering. Dean shushed Cas gently, and released Cas' wings. They fell to his sides, but stayed tilted forward enough so that Cas wouldn't fall backwards.

Cas winced at the renewed pain, and blinked back tears. Dean pulled away, and moved in front of Cas, where he rested on the balls of his feet.

"Hey, look at me."

Has Cas tilted his head to look at Dean.

"We need to get you out to the car," Dean said, thinking out loud. "You can't walk all the way there on your own like this, can you?"

Cas shook his head. He's so weak. So useless. He still can't imagine why Dean hasn't killed him yet, or left him on the side of the road for someone else to find.

Dean probably had plans for him. That must have been it. Dean was planning to do something much, much worse than anything Cas could come up with.

"--is that alright?"

Oh no. Oh _no_.

Cas hadn't been paying attention. He doesn't know what Dean had said. But it's okay. It's no matter. He'll figure it out, and it's not like he can say no anyway.

He nodded.

Deam flashed a tense smile. "Okay. Just hang on a second." He stood, walked to the other bed, and stripped the thin sheet off of it. Humming, he tucked the sheet under his arm and walked over to Cas again. "Arms out, wings around."

Cas held his arms out to the side, as straight as he could. His wings half-wrapped around his bruised torso, and Cas hoped that he was doing what Dean wanted him to. He didn't want to hurt anymore.

He tensed as Dean tied the sheet around Cas' torso, and by default, his wings.

"Does that hurt?"

Cas shook his head. His wings ached, of course. They ached worse than anything, but they always did. Still, it was better than he could have been. Dean fussed with the sheet slightly, trying to get Cas' wings into a more comfortable position. Cas sighed in relief as he felt some pressure taken off of his few remaining flight feathers.

"Grab on," Dean said, holding his hands out. Cas hesitated, then grabbed Dean's forearms, and let himself be pulled to his feet. Cas stumbled forward slightly, and Dean caught him, carefully avoiding Cas' wings. He stepped back, and let go of Cas.

"You good to stand on your own?"

Cas nodded and hunched in on himself a bit as Dean crossed the room and picked up his duffle. He set the room key down on the side table, and looked back to Cas, jerking his head towards the door, as if to say ' _follow me.'_

Immediately, Cas obeyed. He trailed slowly behind Dean, trying to keep his weakened wings in a comfortable position. They were confusing him. Since Dean had come into view this morning, Cas' wings had been straining to get into a long-unused position.

One that would tell any other angel that Cas was trying to claim Dean as his own.

It was puzzling. Cas didn't want this--he didn't want to want claim over Dean--but his stubborn wings _wanted,_ and Cas couldn't put them into the position they want to be in. The muscles in his wings were horribly underdeveloped from lack of use, so much so that Cas doubted that they would ever be properly usable.

He whimpered as he slid into the passenger's seat, and Dean looked over at Cas, concerned.

 _I'm okay,_ is what Cas wanted to say, but wasn't allowed.

**Only speak when spoken to.**

He knew that he has broken that rule--and others--more often than not, but now he needed to remember to follow, and how do as he was told. If he was obedient enough, Dean would be nicer to him.

That was how it was supposed to work, anyway. So far, Dean had been anything but what Cas had grown to expect. Dean had been nothing but kind to him during his short duration under Dean's ownership, but that could change at any moment.

Dean pulled out onto the road, and let Cas pick the music.

It was strange, but Cas didn't hate it.

Maybe this would be okay after all.

***

Maybe not.

 _Definitely_ not.

Cas didn't like this place. It was too big, too isolated, too--too--

It wasn't home. But Cas had never really had a home, had he?

He didn't know. Still, he stood and limped through the garage. In it, there were several cars other than Dean's: all old, but in pristine condition.

Cas almost tripped over his own feet, but Dean steadied him with a hand. Before long, they had reached the door into the rest of the house, and Dean stopped Cas with a light hand on his shoulder.

"My brother is in there. I don't think you'll remember him, so here goes." Dean pulled out his phone, clicked open an app, and passed it to Cas. "This is what he looks like. His name is Sam, and he's really tall--" Dean approximated Sam's hight with one of his hands. "But he's not gonna hurt you, okay?"

Cas nodded. "Brother. S-s-sam. Won't hurt me."

"Yeah." Dean squeezed Cas' shoulder gently. "That's all right." And with that, Dean pushed open the door. He walked in front of Cas, an action that Cas would normally intemperate as Dean being above him, but Dean just seemed to be trying to protect Cas. Protection was not something that Cas was opposed to in that moment, so he pressed himself as close to Dean as he could without making Dean uncomfortable as he followed.

Dean called Sam's name, and a moment later, Sam came out of one of the hallways. His eyes caught on Cas, and a grin spread across his face. "Hey, Cas," he said, acting like Cas was his equal. That couldn't be right.

All the same, Cas raised his hand and waved. "Sam."

Sam's eyes darted to Cas' wings, and Cas shrank into himself, and tucked himself behind Dean as well as he could. Wings should be something private--something only shown to those you trust the most, and only touched by your mate. He wanted to ask Dean if he could leave, or find something to better cover his ragged wings with, but he couldn't.

**Only speak when spoken to.**

His stomach growled.

"Shit," Dean hissed, turning to face Cas. "You need to eat."

Cas' looked at the floor. "Yes," he whispered. He was so hungry that it hurt, but Sam and Dean didn't know that, and Cas wouldn't tell them.

"C'mon," Dean said, placing his hand on Cas' shoulder and starting to guide him to another room. "We need to get some food into you."

Cas let Dean lead him, but still kept his wings pulled in as far as he could. The smaller his wings seem, the better. Dean let go of Cas' shoulder as they reached the kitchen, and headed for the cabinets. Cas just stood where Dean had left him, trying not to shake. It didn't help when Sam entered the room, too. Dean hadn't been kidding when he had said Sam was large.

"You can sit down," Dean said.

Cas dropped to the floor and crossed his legs.

Dean set down the jar of peanut butter he had been handling. "At the table, buddy." He gestured at the aforementioned table with a blunt knife.

"Oh." Cas attempted to stand, but fell backwards due to the heaviness of his wings, and ended up smashing them under his body. He whimpered in pain, and flinched at the sound of clinking metal, and approaching footsteps. He opened his eyes, squinting against the pain, and came face to face with Sam. Dean was approaching from behind Sam, and they both looked worried.

Dean muttered quiet reassurances as he slipped his arm around Cas' shoulders, and lifted Cas back into a sitting position. "Hey, you're okay," He murmured, locking eyes with Cas.

Cas just whimpered.

"Let's get you to the table," Dean said, glancing over at Sam. "You're heavy--no offense--so Sam is gonna help me, okay?"

 _No. No--not okay._ Cas didn't want to be touched by Sam, but he nodded anyway. He didn't get a choice.

"Alright, just--" Sam wrapped an arm around Cas' torso, not quite avoiding Cas' wings, and helped Dean pull Cas into a standing position. Cas stumbled away from Sam's hands as quickly as he could, and sat down at the table before Sam or Dean could touch him again. His wings throbbed something awful--he must have damaged them further when he had fallen back onto them.

Sam slid into the seat across and to the left of Cas, and Dean returned to the counter. Cas stared down at his hands in an effort to ignore Sam: Cas' hands were pale to the point of his fingertips going blue, and scarred slightly. His cuticles were ragged, split, and bloody. It was pitiful. _He_ was pitiful--hardly worthy of the title 'angel.'

Not worthy at all.

Cas was startled back to reality by a plate being set in front of him. It held a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a glass of water was set next to it.

Dean slid into the seat across from Cas and propped his elbows on table. "Go ahead. It's safe."

"I don't think I deserve this," Cas said, his head tilted to the floor.

"Cas," Dean said, sounding slightly pained. "You need to eat."

"I do." Cas pushed the plate over to Dean, who immediately pushed it back.

"Than _eat."_ Dean sighed. "Please. I just want you to be healthy."

Hesitantly, Cas picked up one half of the sandwich, and took a small bite. He would eat just enough to please Dean--not enough to overstate his value, or to make it seem like he deserved it--just enough to make Dean happy.

**Your only purpose is to satisfy your master.**

But, by the time that rule had crossed through Cas' mind, he had stuffed an entire half of the sandwich into his mouth. It could have been the best thing Cas had ever tasted.

"Jesus," Dean muttered under his breath. "You're hungry."

Sheepishly, Cas swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, and left the other half uneaten. He didn't need this. What he had eaten so far was more than enough.

Dean frowned slightly, clearly concerned with Cas' unwillingness to eat. "You can finish that, you know."

Cas curled into himself slightly, not wanting to draw Dean's anger.

"I'm not gonna hurt you if you don't," Dean explained. "But we're going to throw it out anyway."

Cas took the other half of the sandwich, and ate it slowly. He watched Sam and Dean as he did; his blue eyes flicked between them worriedly. His stomach had started to cramp from all of the food he had consumed.

"You don't remember any of this," Dean started, "but you used to live here. You've got a room. I'll show you when you want."

"A room?"

Sam's eyes flashed with worry. "It's a-a place where you sleep."

"I know," Cas said quietly. "I don't need one, though. I can sleep here."

Dean bit his lip and looked down. This was so bad. He should have found Cas more quickly, should have worked harder, not let Cas out of his sight in the first place...

Too many should-haves, would-haves, and regrets.

"You know what? I'll show you now."

***

Cas' room was very plain, but was still more than he deserved.

There was a bed in the center, and a side table on one side of it, but otherwise, it was unadorned. Except for a cassette tape, which Cas left alone. He didn't want to take the risk of touching something that wasn't his.

"It's not much, but it's..." Dean shrugs. "It's yours. You never really moved in." Dean said that last part with a kind of darkness in his voice. "But, ah, you should probably get--" he cleared his throat "--cleaned up. No offense, but you're looking kind of rough."

 _Oh._ Cas lowered his head. Dean didn't like how he looked--of course he didn't--Cas was such a disgrace. Not so much as worthy to stand in front of Dean. "I'm sorry."

"No," Dean sighed tensely. "It's fine. I'll show you the bathroom, and you can fix yourself up. Sound good?" He stepped forward and placed his hand on Cas' shoulder.

Cas nodded. He wasn't quite sure what would happen once he got to the bathroom, but the idea of removing the dirt, blood, and grime from his body was more than enough to get him to accept Dean's offer. Only slightly suspiciously, he let Dean guide him down the halls, until they reached the bathroom.

Dean clapped his hands together, and rocked back on the balls of his feet. "So, um, this is it. Tell me if you need anything. I'll put some clothes at the door." He stepped away, and waved awkwardly. 'Uh, bye."

He closed the door, and Cas was alone.

Dean expected him to be clean, and it wouldn't hurt to take a shower, so Cas kicked off his sweatpants and boxers before stepping into one of the shower stalls. His wings were still swathed in fabric to keep him standing upright, and the sheet needed to come off if he was going to clean his wings properly.

Cas turned around and pressed his back gently against the wall so that he could take some weight off of the wings, untied the sheet, tossed it over his wings, and pulled it completely off of his body. His wings shivered, feathers ruffling, and Cas winced at the aching pull of the extra weight on his back.

He reached over and turned the water on, edging it towards the warmer side. Dean hadn't said that the water needed to be cold, so Cas was going to take advantage of that, at least until his hardwired brain forced his hand to turn the water frigid again.

_Don't take what isn't offered._

Dean certainly hadn't offered warm water. All he had asked was for Cas to clean himself up, so that was what Cas was going to do. Nothing more, and (possibly under pain of death) nothing less.

He let the chilled water wash over him, and watched--almost mesmerized--as dirt and blood came off of his skin and filtered down the drain. After a couple minutes, it occurred to him that maybe he should actually make an effort to clean himself. He couldn't waste too much water, after all.

He picked up the shampoo and squeezed a tiny amount into his hands, and then ran his soapy hands through his hair.

The amount of sheer filth that drained out of the stall in the next minute was nothing short of astonishing. Cas grimaced at the sight; it was no wonder that Dean had asked him to clean up.

From there he scrubbed the rest of his body as quickly and efficiently as he could, and that left only his wings untouched. They were already more heavy than normal because of the water that had been raining down on them for several minutes, and Cas didn't know how much he could move without falling over.

_You need to clean up._

Cas sighed, braced himself, and stepped away from the wall. He wobbled on his feet for a moment, but managed to stay upright, and moved as carefully as he could to get part of one of his wings in front of him. Gently, he carded his fingers through the remaining feathers, picking out the broken ones and smoothing out the rest as best he could. It hurt less than he had expected, but the cold water stung the sensitive, exposed skin of his wings, which wasn't at all pleasant.

It only took a few minutes to get the corners of both wings, and a few more to get the sections of the bottom that Cas could reach, but then he found himself in a predicament.

The majority of his wings were still filthy, but there was no way that he could easily wash them. He couldn't ask for help, of course, so then what...

He would just need to try his best, and take whatever punishment that Dean was to dole out when he deemed Cas' attempt unsatisfactory. Cas reached back to try to pull a broken feather out of his left wing, pitched backwards, and crashed to the tiled floor.

A broken howl tore its way from his throat, and he clapped his hand over his mouth, but too late. There was no way that Sam or Dean hadn't heard that.

"Cas? Are you okay?"

Right on cue.

"I'm coming in!"

Cas shivered under the cold spray of water, and curled into himself. The door clicked open, and Cas could see Dean's shadow cross the room. Dean walked over, found the stall that Cas was in, and turned to look at him.

"God, Cas. What did you do?"

"I--I--" Cas' breath hitched."Couldn't clean my w-wings. Fell."

Dean's eyebrows pinched up in worry. "Okay, hold on. I'm gonna get you back up." He bent forward and pulled Cas into a sitting position, which got his clothes soaked in the process. Cas whimpered and knocked his head back against the wall. He hurt so badly, but he couldn't tell Dean that. Couldn't be an inconvenience.

"Cas," Dean said softly. "Cas, hey, look at me, buddy."

Cas looked up at Dean, his eyes glossy with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know I messed up, but please d-don't hit them." He blinked, and tears rolled down his cheek, starkly hot in comparison to the temperature of the shower water. He pressed himself more harshly against the wall, his wings twinged, and he tucked his chin to his chest. "It will just make me worse."

Dean's eyes flashed with worry. "No, Cas. I'm not gonna hurt you. Hey, it's okay." He tilted Cas' chin up. "I'm just gonna finish cleaning you up, and then I'll leave you alone, okay?"

Cas' eyes went wide. "You're not going to--to--" he mimed pulling feathers out.

Dean shook his head slightly. "No. No way, none of that." He looked up at the shower head. "Damn, you trying to freeze yourself?" Dean reached up and turned the shower knob to red. Cas let out an admittedly embarrassing noice when the first wave of warmed water hit his body, and he shuddered under the spray.

"It's alright," Dean soothed, running his hand over the slope of Cas' wings.

Cas didn't have the permission to tell Dean that usually only mates were allowed to touch each other's wings, but he doubted Dean would listen anyway. Besides, Dean was being _so_ gentle with his touches. He had said that he knew Cas, maybe they _were_ mates, and Cas just didn't remember. That would certainly explain how his wings wanted to position themselves around Dean, and Dean's surprisingly caring nature.

It wouldn't explain _why_ Dean had chosen Cas as his mate, though. It wouldn't explain how they had formed the bond between them, or why Dean wanted him in the first place.

Cas shifted his wings weakly, and tried to alleviate some of the pain in his wings. Unfortunately, it didn't really work, and he just ended up transferring the pain from one part of his wing to another.

"I'm gonna finish your wings up for you, okay?" Dean said. His hand was still resting gently on one of Cas' wings. "Just tell me what to do."

That was wrong. All wrong. Cas wasn't allowed to tell others what to do. He was only allowed to be told.

"Cas?"

"Pull your fingers through the feathers," Cas started, his speech stilted. "Take all of the broken ones out."

Dean nodded encouragingly and carded his hand through Cas' feathers.

_Oh._

Just like that. Part of the itching pain in Cas' wing disappeared as Dean flicked Cas' unbroken feathers back into their correct alignment.

"A-and wash them off wit-with water." Cas took a deep breath as Dean tugged out one of Cas' split and broken feathers. "Please. Thank you."

"No problem, Cas," Dean murmured, straightening out some more of Cas' wayward feathers. "It's okay, you can relax."

Cas let himself relax, just a bit. He let the tension drain out of his shoulders as well as he could, and slouched down slightly. His eyes drifted shut, and he focused on the calming pressure and gentle trail of Dean's fingers. The water was warm, and just enough to almost lull Cas to sleep.

Or maybe just enough, because the next thing Cas knew, he was swaddled in a thick towel, the water was off, and Dean was shaking him awake.

"Wakey-wakey, Cas."

Cas blinked awake and looked up at Dean. His wings--through they still ached horribly--felt worlds better than they had earlier. Dean was crouched in front of him, still in his soaked clothes from earlier.

"That's right," Dean said. "Welcome back, buddy. Think you can stand if I help you?"

Cas nodded, and, somehow, Dean managed to get him to his feet without either of them falling over. Cas whimpered as his wings were jostled, and automatically leaned into Dean for stability.

Dean guided Cas to the other side of the room, and helped Cas prop himself up against the wall. Cas flared his wings out as best he could in order to lessen the pain. Dean picked up a shirt he had probably set in the bathroom earlier, and held out to Cas.

Cas tilted his head, and looked between the shirt, and his wings. "I can't."

"Arms out," Dean said, ruffling the shirt. Cas took a closer look at the shirt, and realized that it had been cut down the back (albeit a bit jaggedly) to accommodate his wings.

Cas let Dean slip the shirt into him. Wearing a shirt was a strange--but not unwelcome--thing. Cas arched his back slightly so that Dean could tie the shirt closed. Dean flashed Cas a thumbs up, and grabbed a pair of flannel pants, which Cas assumed to be meant for him.

"Can you pull your leg up?" Dean asked.

Cas lifted his leg, and Dean tugged the pants up one leg , then the other. The waistband of the pants hung low on Cas' sharp hips, which only highlighted how thin he was. Sighing slightly, Dean walked a very woozy Cas back to his room, and tucked him into bed. Cas mumbled his thanks and fluffed his wings up.

"You're welcome," Dean said quietly, running his hand over Cas' wings again.

He was so, so gentle.

Cas drifted off as Dean left the room, feeling clean and comfortable for the first time that he could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> See you all in a few weeks <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated! <3


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